


A Dark Starry Night

by itswackkman



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone Lives, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Credence Is Big Gay, F/M, Gen, Happy Credence Barebone, Leta is Confused but Goes Along With Whatever, Newt Does What He Wants (within reason), Obscurial Credence Barebone, Original Percival Graves & Theseus Scamander Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Theseus Scamander, Tags Contain Spoilers, Theseus Just Wants What Best For Newt, Which is odd cuz the author barely understands the plot, spoiler alert: there is no plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itswackkman/pseuds/itswackkman
Summary: "He glanced up. Bowtruckles. He could work with this. This is what he knew. This was his comfort zone."Credence manages to survive the events of New York. Desparate to start a new life for himself, he runs away. It doesn't matter where he goes or how he gets there, he just need to get out.





	1. In which Credence forgets his floaties but he’s already at the pool so might as well swim

**Author's Note:**

> My spelling and grammar might be wrong because this is un-beta'd and I have a very weak understanding of English. If you spot any errors please tell me!
> 
> Previously: Comfort Zone  
> I had to change the title cuz my friends were starting to find my works

He booked the first boat back to England, needing no further prompting from President Picquery. Shortly before arriving at the boarding platform, Newt wrote his brother--who, no doubt, already knew he had managed to leave England in spite of his travel ban. His brother had probably noticed his absence before the first day was over. Newt only hoped that Theseus had been ‘kept in the dark’, so to speak, about the trouble that seemed to follow him to America.

Saying goodbye to Tina and Queenie was harder than he would’ve expected. Jacob wasn’t there, Newt wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Words that only Queenie may know were left unspoken and the conversation ended with a not-so-subtle promise to visit them in the near future.

Though someone yelled at him to get back on the boat before it left without him, Newt almost didn’t. ‘Almost’ being the keyword. Despite the friends he made in New York, he wasn’t sure he could survive much longer without seeing his other creatures--not all of his creatures were able to come to New York with him, some of them he was forced to leave in London under the care of Theseus.

He managed to board the boat and everything sailed smoothly, metaphorically. Nothing seemed to sail smoothly in the literal sense; throughout the whole ride, the boat rocked back and forth in a violent manner.

Newt quickly located the room he’d be occupying. It was a small room--if he spread his arms to their full wingspan, his hands would be able to touch both walls at the same time--but it was also the cheapest room on the ship. There was a single bed with thin, white sheets that were either stained or in desperate need of a proper cleaning. For the price he paid, Newt honestly couldn’t complain and either way, he’d be spending the majority of the trip in his case with his creatures.

Newt accounted for the food his creatures would need, and then some, however, he failed to account for whatever food he might’ve needed. Had he been able to travel as he normally would’ve, he could have already been in Britain. Due to a not-so-minor inconvenience caused by the Ministry of Magic, itself, he was forced to spend the next 10-or-so days on this muggle vesel.

He had seriously over-estimated how fast muggle vessels actually travel. Two days had already passed, yet they had only traveled about 250 miles. At some point, he’d have to rejoin the major population on deck in search for food. Until then, he would remain in his case with his creatures.

The point at which he needed to rejoin the population in search of food, came a lot faster than he would’ve hoped, though with the amount of running around he did in his case, it was only to be expected. He was still rather disappointed that time appeared so early into the trip.

When Newt left the safety of his case, he was surprised to see that it was pitch black outside. His estimation of two days, might not have been nearly as accurate as he thought.

He stepped outside onto the presumably empty deck, only to be met by a dark figure leaning against the railing. 

\-------

Credence wasn’t sure where he was or where he was going, all he knew was that he was, in fact, alive. Likewise, he assumed he was the only person who knew of his continued existence and he intended to keep it this way. So, naturally, he searched for the first way to escape New York and the witchcraft that haunted the city.

Thus, he ended up on this boat. Credence had no idea where the boat was going, he only knew it to be an escape.

He had spent the better part of the first day hiding away in the laundry room. However small the chance that someone might recognize him from the New York incident, he didn't want to risk it.

They had been sailing through, what Credence thought was, the Atlantic for the better part of seven days. Credence had managed to fall into a rhythm of sorts; during the day he would hide away in the engine room--the ballroom was also an option, but only at certain times--and once he was sure that all the passengers were away in their cabins, Credence would roam freely around the deck.

The kitchen staff worked odd hours so there was only a brief one hour period where he was able to steal whatever he could from the kitchen. He was always careful to not steal so much that it would be noticeable--which normally resulted in him skipping certain days as far as food went--yet steal enough so he could survive semi-nourished.

At this point in his life, Credence had grown used to the constant feeling of hunger. Yet, when he was here, walking along the deck, his focus was somewhere else.

In the beginning, Credence would simply walk the deck over and over again into the early hours of the morning when all the early birds decided to wake up. Now, that simple act had grown redundant and tedious, he would just stand by the railing and stare up into the sky.

He was completely mesmerized by the starry night sky and fascinated by the different moon phases. The act of walking around the deck may have become boring after a short time, but Credence didn't think he would ever tire of looking up into the sky only to find a seemingly endless amount of glittering stars. Credence couldn't possibly imagine a time where the moon, or lack of it on some nights, would fail to dazzle him.

So, as he did every night, Credence found himself leaning against the old railing with his gaze set on the crescent-shaped moon. His gaze averted to the reflection the moon cast upon the tranquil water. The water always seemed to be calmer at night.

Credence pondered with the idea of working on a ship once he got where ever he was going. At the least, Credence knew how to clean and he seemed to like being out at sea. The main issue would appear when trying to acquire said job.

His train of thought was cut short by the sound of the floorboards creaking. Credence had practically memorized the sound each of the floorboards made during the nights he had spent walking the deck.

Although he tried to tell himself it was probably nothing, his fight or flight instincts were kicking in and Credence wanted to choose the latter. His grip on the railing may have tightened, but he didn't move from his spot. Rather, Credence tried to remain as still as possible as though, if something were there, it wouldn't see him if he didn't move.

The creaking of the floorboards only continued and seemed to intensify, yet Credence refused to move. With every creak, his grip would only tighten. His fear drowned out whatever pain he would’ve otherwise felt from how hard the railing was digging into his skin.

His grip on the rails tightened to the point where he could no longer feel his hands. He didn’t feel as the rusted railing collapsed under his weight.

\-------

Newt remained as still as possible hoping that the dark figure standing opposite of him was merely a hallucination caused by the lack of sleep he had received. Maybe if he was still enough the figure, that is if it wasn’t a mere hallucination, wouldn’t see him and simply walk away.

There was no real reason for him wanting to avoid the person. Technically, they hadn’t caught him in the act of stealing food from the kitchens. He could’ve easily made the excuse of being unable to sleep or stargazing or even needing some fresh air. He still had the ticket to prove he actually paid to board this ship. In all honesty, he didn’t want to have to socialize.

His original plans were to spend this entire journey in his case, away from the major population. Those plans where obviously cut short, but he still wasn’t sure that he would be able to hold a reasonable conversation with this mystery person should it be necessary. Newt had to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable he would have with his brother, Theseus, once he got back into London for crying out loud.

Instead, he watched in horror as the railing disappeared from beneath the figure. The most horrifying thing was that for a split second, Newt almost walked away.

Cursing, he ran to where the figure had fallen overboard whilst stripping himself of his coat and vest. Using whatever little brain cells he had left, Newt thought to grab his wand before he dived into the freezing ocean. He hadn’t, however, thought to cast any sort of charm that would allow him to breathe underwater for extended periods of times.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins was enough to make the shock that the freezing water otherwise would’ve caused disappear. He forced his eyes to remain open despite the painful sting of the salty water. The only source of light was whatever the reflection of the moon decided to grant him. Newt continued to swim deeper only to be met with complete emptiness spare for the dark, cold water that surrounded him.

Newt ascended to the surface and began slowly treading water as to allow his lung the sweet embrace of stolen air, before diving down again.

This time he was able to make out an area where the water appeared darker than it should’ve. The figure appeared to be trying to fight their way to the surface of the water. Newt swam best he could to reach the person, but every second longer it took, the more likely he wouldn’t succeed. Every second longer it took, he noticed the figure’s efforts seemed to lessen. Until their movements stopped and their body slowly began rise to the top of the water.

They were unconscious. Newt estimated that he had less than thirty seconds before they went into cardiac arrest. He swam with more force behind each movement, ignoring the burning in his lungs, in a race against himself to reach the person.

By some miracle, Newt managed to reach the figure. He wrapped an arm around the waist and fought his way back to the top. He wasn’t completely sure if he could apparate in and out of bodies of water, and the situation was too delicate to find out now.

The person was still unconscious and the risk-fact of them going into cardiac arrest hadn’t lessened greatly.

Gasping, Newt looked around for the ship that had surely deserted them by now. He was pleasantly surprised to find the large ship staring back at him instead. Making sure to keep the person’s head above water, he slowly swam back to the ship.

Something had finally decided to work in his favor; there was a ladder waiting for him by along the side of the boat. The difficult part would be climbing up the ladder while keeping a steady grip on the person.

\-------

Credence didn’t feel as the railing collapsed. He didn’t feel himself falling overboard. He only knew he had fallen when his body hit the water.

He had no idea how to swim.

Now, in the freezing waters of the North Atlantic, was not the time to learn. That being said, he didn’t know how to keep himself from drowning either. He never really had the time to drown between destroying New York and handing out religious pamphlets.

Panic filled his body as he sunk into the water. He mustered whatever energy he had--the plan of staying semi-nourished seemed to have backfired on him--and fought his way to the surface. His lungs wept in joy once he managed to get his head above the tides.

Using whatever little knowledge he had of swimming, Credence tried to turn onto his back, trusting he would float. He managed to turn completely onto his back, only to be thrown back underwater by a miniscule wave.

His hands reached out, blindly grasping for anything that might possibly help him.

Underwater, his screams would never reach other ears, but he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing.

Every movement was filled with a pain that only served to help him forget the burning in his lungs. There was a heaviness, that only seemed to grow, dragging him further and further down. His heart began to slow, despite his efforts towards reaching the surface.

He wavered on the border between conscious and unconscious, before finally giving in to the side of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if yall tell but idk how boats work and was too lazy to actually research cuz research is for people who take their fics and themselves seriously. so yeah i’ll probably continue this (who knows really??) but updates will be slow cause i have no idea how to write 1K+ words per chapter and update regularly. also i liek writing drowning scenes


	2. In which Newt is a nurse and Newts Creatures receive honorable mentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how does cpr work??? imsorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another episode of hIsToRiCaL iNaCcUrAcY of the chapter: mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was actually invented in 1955 by Peter Safar and James Elam and adopted by the United States military as a method to revive unresponsive victims. It was later updated and rebranded as Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation (CPR) in 1960.
> 
> I’ve taken artistic liberties and rather than the historcal cannon of cpr being invented in 1960 by peter and james, newt actually invented cpr in 1926. what a king we stan

Newt managed to get back onto the deck without apparating, though he supposes that once they were on the side of the boat, out of the water, he could’ve apparated safely. The process of carrying the unconscious person up to the deck was slightly harder than he would’ve thought. The light weight of the person was a large advantage.

Now, came the hard part: performing CPR. Newt had only ever done it once,--a drowning niffler is all he’ll say on the matter--but it wasn’t as though CPR was taught at Hogwarts, or any wizarding school, as far as he knew.

Newt struggled to remember even the basics. He knew there was something having to do with compressions and a part about mouth-to-mouth, but the rest was a forgotten something in the back of his mind. He didn’t have time to sit around and try to remember the steps to cpr.

He adjusted his watch and sighed deeply, before pushing his soaking hair back and preparing to begin the compressions. Only after he had already adjusted the person’s head and started the compressions, did he actually notice who the person was.

_Credence._

The obscurial he’d met in New York.

Newt thought Credence had died.

Technically, Credence was currently dead, but that’s not what he meant.

His compressions became erratic, despite his efforts to keep them steady. Newt wasn’t sure what rhythm the compressions were supposed to follow, either way. He timed them best he could. He also wasn’t sure exactly where his hands were supposed to be.

He did his best to guess, using what little information he knew, but he was still uncertain if they were too high or maybe too low.

Once he had performed 30 chest compressions--the amount of chest compressions he was supposed to perform before doing mouth-to-mouth was one of the few things about CPR Newt was sure of--Newt adjusted Credence’s head before beginning mouth-to-mouth.

Newt continued this for 2 repetitions before giving up.

He checked for a pulse. It took a while and the pulse was faint, but it was there.

Newt continued, this time with more force behind his actions--which, in fairness, would probably result in many bruises.

Once Credence coughed up salt water, presumably still unconscious, Newt checked for a pulse again. A steady thrumming raced under his fingers.

Slumping down, Newt released a long breath. He took a moment to collect himself, his fingers never leaving Credence’s neck. His pulse continued to drum steady under his close watch, yet Credence still didn’t wake.

With a small groan, Newt got up, carrying Credence with him. Luckily, Credence was rather light-weight so he wasn’t completely dragging the boy back to his cabin, assuming Credence didn’t have his own cabin.

Once they got back to the cabin, Newt set Credence on the formerly untouched bed, thinking he wouldn’t be able to safely get Credence into is case given the boy’s current state. Also, waking up after, what was presumably, a failed suicide attempt, surrounded by magical creatures probably wasn’t ideal.

Now, it was simply a waiting game.

\-------

It had three days.

Three days.

Credence still hadn’t woken up.

The first day, Newt stayed by his side the entire time. He had only went into his case once, very briefly, to feed his creatures. In those 24 hours, Newt sat in a chair in the other side of the room, granted the room wasn’t large by any means, staring intently at Credence. His eyes focused on every small detail, needing something to help distract himself from the fact that the boy might be dead. In fact, nearly every five minutes, Newt got up to check Credence’s pulse just to make sure the boy was breathing.

On the second day, Newt stayed in the cabin with Credence, only escaping to his case once to feed his animals again. Newt found himself more able to relax, not by much though. He worked on his book non-stop. At the top of every hour, he would check Credence’s pulse. He tried to ensure himself that it was just so he could make sure that Credence, despite being out of the water for 48 hours now, wouldn’t go into cardiac arrest.

By the third day, Newt was sure that Credence had worked himself into a coma. The boy was unresponsive to everything, yet still breathing. So, he worked inside his case for a bit. Every couple of hours he would still come up to check on Credence. Just to make sure he was still breathing, to see if he had woken up yet.

It was the third day when Newt remembered how he had found out Credence was on the ship. He had left his cabin to see if he could possibly raid the kitchens for food. For food. However, meeting Credence again in those unfortunate circumstances postponed his quest for food.

So, after checking on Credence for the fourth time today, Newt escaped to find food. This time he’d need to grab extra for when Credence woke up.

The raid of the kitchen had been a success. Though, Newt had forgotten to obilvate the innocent chef who had the misfortune of catching Newt in the act. However, Newt was sly enough to escape.

Newt only grabbed what was necessary, not wanting to rob the sailors and chefs of a potential profit. A small loaf of bread, a few apples and maybe a couple of slices of pound cake.

With his arms full, he struggled to open the door to is cabin. He was finally able to turn the knob properly. His breath caught as he inched the door open with his foot.

What if Credence had woken while he was gone? Newt had tried to be as quick as possible, but what if Credence had woken up in the few minutes he had left. What if Credence had left? Meeting him on the boat--technically off the board--had been an exceptionally low likelihood, but seeing im twice, especially given Credence’s want to stay hidden at the moment, would be impossible.

A long breath of relief left his body as Newt inched the door open to reveal Credence’s seemingly lifeless body lying on the old, bed just as it was before Newt left.

Seemingly lifeless.

Newt rushed to place the food down and empty his hands so he could check Credence’s pulse just to make sure that the lifelessness was, in fact, only seemingly.

There was a steady thrumming under his fingers once Newt was able to re-check the boy’s pulse. It was stronger than any other time he had checked.

This time, Newt stayed, having already fed his creatures. The thought of Credence waking up alone and Newt only knowing hours later haunting him. The intensity of the boy’s pulse also gave him a new hope that the boy might wake up soon. Or maybe this was his body warning Newt right before he went into cardiac arrest. Either way, Newt would sit beside the bed until he woke up and if Newt fell asleep for a minute or two while sitting then no one needed to know.

It was around hour 15 of sitting beside the bed that Newt went against his self-promise of sitting there until Credence woke. Sitting by the small table across the room working on his book was different then sitting beside a bed on an uncomfortable floor left with nothing to do. His only form of entertainment down here was reciting everything about magical creatures he could recall off the top of his mind to Credence, whom was unconscious.

Newt bargained with Credence--more himself as Credence didn’t hold up much of an argument, or conversation in general, given his current state. And he finally agreed that he would escape to the comfort of his case only for a couple of minutes just to feed his animals.

However, once he was finally able to see his creatures, he might’ve lost track of time. His full and honest intention was to quickly feed his creatures then return to spot by the bed and list off any facts he might’ve missed the first time. His plan in theory was not carried out as well as he might’ve thought.

Instead, of taking two minutes to visit his creatures, Newt took two hours. Most of which was spent trying to feed his Kelpies and keeping his Nifflers out of trouble.

The thought of Credence having woken up while newt was gone was ever present in his mind as Newt climbed the ladder leading him out of the case.

\-------

When Credence woke up, the first thing noticed was that he was alone. He didn’t notice the strange bed he was in or the strange room or the strange case directly in the middle of the room or the electric blue--of all colors. Electric blue?--coat hanging on the door or the burning of his throat or the way he could hear his heart pounding in his head. In all his years, the only times Credence could recall being alone was when bad things happened. He didn’t want to be alone.

He almost ran out of the room. Yet he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. Maybe it was the case laying closed on the ground.

He knew that case. Yet he wasn’t sure how. He just knew that case.

He knew the coat too. But there was no way it just any coat he had seen on he had seen on the streets of New York. No one in New York wore electric blue.

He heard footsteps. The same way he did when he fell.

Credence wasn’t sure where he was at this point, but he doubted he had enough energy to hold a conversation--especially given the burning of his throat--yet alone be questioned by some stranger (Credence only knew a handful of people and he doubted this was someone he knew).

The footsteps grew louder and only served to compliment the pounding in his head.

Credence made a split decision as the person fumbled with the doorknob. He laid back down, trying his best to recreate his former position. He forced himself to relax and look as natural as possible.

The person sighed when they entered the room, though Credence wasn’t sure if it were from disappointment or relief--honestly, either would’ve been understandable. They stumbled around the room, rather loudly, for a while before standing next to where he was laying.

They were quiet.

Then, Credence felt a pair of cold fingers touch his neck. He tensed up in an effort to not jump up at the surprise. He could only hope the person hadn’t noticed.

Their fingers stayed at his neck for a while, presumably checking his pulse. Had they done this while he was sleeping? Credence nearly sighed in relief once they were satisfied with his pulse. However, they didn’t leave.

Credence felt them lean against the bed. Were they going to sit there the whole time? Was this what they had been doing while he was unconscious?

Moments passed before they decided they grew bored with the silence. They began speaking. Did they know he was awake?

They had an accent. British. A man.

He knew that voice. British accents weren’t common in New York.

Credence had no idea what they what they were rambling about, but their voice was animated.

He tried to focus on what they were saying, but they kept using words he didn’t know.

“ _Acromantulas..._ Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures... _Basilisk…” They continued talking, yet Credence was sure that they were talking to themself at this point._

Despite not understanding a word the man spoke, Credence found himself relaxing in his presence. His accent was soothing in an odd way.

The more he listened, Credence realized they were listing something off in alphabetical order. Were they reading something out loud for him?

They didn’t finish the list--he assumed because the last thing they listed was a _Mooncalf_ , whatever that was, which began with an M. Instead, he began arguing with himself. Something along the lines of whether he should leave.

Credence didn’t want to leave him. Alone.

In the end, he decided to leave, but he would only be a couple minutes. That gave Credence only two minutes to try to find out where exactly he was.

Once he was completely sure that they had left the room, Credence got up. He didn’t leave the bed. At a moments notice he was ready to pretend to be asleep again.

The first thing he noticed he that the case was unlocked. It wasn’t open, but the latch was open. It wasn’t unlocked before.

The coat was still on the door. The coat. His accent. This was the man from the subway. The one with Miss Goldstein. How’d he get here?

Credence got off the bed. He knew the man would be back any minute, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

His hands caressed the fabric of the electric blue coat. It was rough like felt, yet gentle like cotton.

He allowed his eyes to wander around the room. It was bare save for the case sitting closed in the middle of the floor and the small table littered with spare paper. Upon approaching the table, he found all sorts of writing and drawing on the papers.

Credence didn’t like to be hyper-critical but the drawings were horrible. They were clearly sketches of make believe creatures, yet he was sure the portions were wrong. The shading was inconsistent. They must’ve known how incorrect the sketches were because they had drawn the same creatures over and over again, and crumbled up the failed drawings.

He didn’t spend too much time hyper-analyzing the sketches. The writings

interested him far more. The man’s handwriting didn’t appear much better than his drawings. A clear attempt at cursive was made, but it wasn’t a successful attempt. His writing was horribly slanted and each letter was joined together so closely that he could tell where one word ended and the other one began.

Though it was hard to understand most of anything, Credence was able to make out a few words. _Bowtruckle…Demiguise…Erumpent…_ Was this what the British man was talking about earlier?

The longer Credence spent reading (or trying to), the easier it became to understand the truly dreadful handwriting. Credence found himself getting lost in whatever it was that he was reading.

He had no idea what an M.O.M. Classification was or what a Hippocampus was, but despite the handwriting, the writing itself was enchanting.

Credence only noticed how much time had passed once he heard something that snapped him to attention. It wasn’t footsteps ike before. This was something different.

He didn’t have time to act as though he was sleeping again before the case opened and Credence was face to face with the man from the subway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a very vague idea of how cpr actually works and i rEFUSE to do real resarch for this crack fic so the part about newt giving cpr probably sounds really wACK. Also my sci en ce f air is over (i think) so i have more time to write (hopefully, no promises,,)


	3. In which Newt is actually illiterate and theres a gross use of religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does the title sound really bad and something that was made up at the last second using a story title generator?? well thats because iTIS… i can’t think of a good title suggestions anyone?? plz???

“Credence,” He said gently. At any moment Credence could run out and he would never see him again. It would be like calming one of the wild creatures he often came upon. Except, in his experience,  people didn’t like being treated like wild creatures.

He’d still have to approach slowly once he got out of the case. Any quick movements could startle the boy causing his Obcrusle to take over. Any intense emotion could cause his Obcrusle to take over just as well.

The boy was crying.

Why was Credence crying?

All he had said was his name. Was it the way he said it? Had he sounded angry?

His body shook boardline violently as he worked to conceal his sobs, however small, heart wrenching sounds escaped. The slouch in his back became more prominent as he folded into himself.

“Credence,” Newt whispered as he carefully and slowly climbed out of the case in an effort to catch the boy’s attention. He ignored him, however. Or maybe he just didn’t hear.

“Credence,” He repeated. His tone was soft but he spoke louder. Not loud enough to startle the boy--hopefully--but loud enough to get his attention. 

He snapped to attention so quickly it was almost frightening. His posture was rigid and his hands were clenched by his side. He stared straightforward, his eyes not focused on any particular ting. Tears still ran down his face silently.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best approach.

Newt glanced down at the sheets of paper Credence clutched on to. He tried to make out the writing on the paper, but from this distance it wasn’t easy.

His transcript. This he could talk about.

“So, um, what do you think?” Newt tried sneaking a glance at Credence’s face to what his expression. His shoulders relaxed slightly.

“It’s good.” His reply was short and dry. Newt would have to carry this conversation. Conversation was never his strong suit. This would be difficult to say the least.

Newt attempted to lighten the mood by laughing. To say that it sounded like a pained wheeze would’ve been generous.

“What do you honestly think of it?”

“It’s good.” Despite his best attempt, Newt only seemed to make the conversation even more strained and uncomfortable.

He sighed. He needed something. Something that would make this easier. Anything. Anything at all.

“So, uh, which one’s your, um, favorite?” Credence didn’t respond.

“Of the creatures I wrote about,” No response.

“Assuming you read it,” He was talking to himself at this point.

“Can you read?” Newt regretted those words the moment he said them. He hadn’t completely thought through the question before it left his mouth. It sounded insulting, Newt had to assume. If Credence wasn’t talking to him before, he certainly wasn’t now.

“Not, not to be, uh, forward? That sounded… wrong. I didn’t mean that as an insult, it’s just-- I didn’t think it through, that’s all. Not to say you, you can’t read, but also as to not--not embrasess you if you can’t, which would be perfectly fine.” Before he knew it, Newt was rambling. He was stumbling over his words more than usual, the English language failing him yet again.

“Yes,” One word. It took one whispered word to silence Newt and his ramblings. “I mean, I can read.”

Credence’s voice was steady when he answered, but his eyes darted between Newt’s case and the door as though he was ready to run away at any moment.

“How?” Newt repeated the same mistake he made just a moment ago. However, before it had a chance to make more of a fool of himself than he already had by trying to take his words back, Credence answered.

“Back at the orphanage, they taught us how to read the bible,”

“Surely that wasn’t all you read,”

“Yes. We were only taught to read so we could understand the bible.” Credence answered every question almost robotically. Almost like he from a script that had been ingrained in the back of his brain.

“Im sorry, I think you misunderstood. Surely that wasn't all _you_ read,”

Credence remained silent. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.

Preparing to do what he had been doing a lot of as of recent, Newt opened his mouth to retract his previous statement.

“You're right.” Newt waited for Credence to elaborate. He didn’t.

"Well, that’s okay,” Newt slowly sat down in the chair at the end of the bed as to not startle Credence. Credence tensed up but he didn’t leave.

They sat in silence while Newt thought of what to say.

“I didn’t learn to read until I was 10.” Newt admitted. That rather embarrassing admission hug in the air.

“How?”

Newt snorted at the question. “To be fair, I only started schooling once I was 11.”

“I never attended public schooling.” His tone was boastful rather it was regretful.

“How’d you learn to read?”

“Mama taught us how to read and interpret the bible.”

“There’s certain things the bible doesn’t cover. Did you teach yourself?” This question seemed to upset Credence.

“The bible is the only truth in a world stricken with lies. The only saving grace amongst sinners. It’s page contain the Holy words, He is the only path to our eternal happiness.” Newt wasn’t completely sure how to respond. Religion wasn’t something wildly spread around the Wizarding Community or something that he had even a basic knowledge of.

Newt didn’t reply, in fear of saying something ignorant or insulting. He didn’t see a chance of redemption for this conversation. Perhaps he should just spare them the embarrassment and end the conversation there. 

“The bowtruckles.” Credence said. “They sound nice.”

Newt glanced up. Bowtruckles. He could work with this. This is what he knew. This was his comfort zone.

“Bowtruckles?” Credence nodded stiffly. “I like those too. They’re quite particular because they only inhabit trees that are used in making wands.”

“Wands?” Credence looked up slightly. Newt was about to pull his out to show Credence when he realized how frightening that might be. Especially for someone who’s been taught to conceal and hide their magic.

“Yea-yeah, um, they’re like sticks except they have magical cores. Like phoenix feathers and unicorn hair and so on. You- you _can_ do magic with-without a wand, but it's easier to learn with a wand first.” Newt struggled to fully explain what a wand was. He never actually took the time to explore what a wand was; it was just something he had always accepted as there. If it was always there, then there was no reason to explore it any further.

“Magic isn’t real." 

Newt didn’t want to argue with him over this, especially given the fact that he knew he was correct. However, he couldn’t exactly show the boy. Any strong emotion he exhibited could cause another--he didn’t want to call it an attack, but he couldn’t find any other word that would help explain the magnitude of their current situation--attack.

Newt dropped the topic.

“So, bowtruckles, huh?” This conversation wouldn’t be as light and effortless as he might’ve hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but quick update cause the keyboard on my laptop broke so updates might take longer cause ill be typing everything from my phone while i wait for my laptop to get fixed.
> 
> also i reference religion a couple of times thatll probably happen again. im not invested in religion or religious studies so i asked a friend about this idk if anything im referencing is accurate


	4. In which my bois have a very important conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been three years since ive seen this movie,, this will be inaccureate
> 
> also do yall know how hard it was to keep from referring to eyes as orbs

“So, bowtruckles, huh?” The man had given up on his previously attempted conversation (of course, this was mainly Credence’s fault). This would be his last feble try. In all honesty, Credence was surprised the man had tried for this long.

It wasn’t as though he was purposely being difficult, he just had a certain way of alienating people. Perhaps it was something he should work on, though he couldn’t imagine himself becoming sociable anytime soon.

“They sound nice,” The man had made an effort, Credence had to at least meet him halfway, to put in a figurative sense.

“Oh, they are!” Credence couldn’t miss the way the man became more jovial when he replied. He dug in the breast pocket of his white button-down, only to pull out nothing. He patted over each pocket of his pant and shirt as though he had misplaced something.

The man looked panicked for a moment before grabbing the electric blue coat Credence was so fixated on. He checked the breast pocket of the coat. Credence could hear his sigh of relief from where he was sitting, however he couldn’t see the cause of this relief.

The British man turned around holding the grumpy-looking--if that were even possible, Credence didn’t know--stick. The stick, he noticed, was exceptionally green, but he still didn’t understand why this stick was reason for such relief. Credence understood even less how this stick caused such panic or how it was relevant to their current conversation.

Before Credence had time to open his mouth--or leave, the man began talking again.

“This is Pickett,” It was only once the man set the stick down onto his hand that it began to move. The stick--the bowtruckle turned around so it wasn’t facing Credence, but instead the man, and stuck its tongue out.

Credence had gotten on this boat with the hope of escaping the magic and horrors that haunted NewYork, yet it only seemed to follow him. He had hoped that the papers he was reading were simply the first draft of a fantasy writer. He had hoped for too much. God rewarded those who were pure in their followings, not sinners.

He could’ve easily gotten up and left. Continue hoping. Hoped he wouldn’t run into this man again. Or any of the other just like him. Or Mr. Graves. Yet, he doubted his hopes would be answered. He also doubted that he wouldn’t experience another episode, as he liked to call them, and lash out and hurt someone else.

“Back in the subway, you-you said that you could help me. You said--you said you had met another one like--like me.”

“In Egypt,” The conversation turn slemdom. “I wasn’t able to save her. She was only 10.”

10\. He had said 10. The girl--the other one like him--she only lived to 10 years old. For some odd reason, this struck a chord with Credence. He couldn’t be sure why.

It shouldn’t affect him. It didn’t affect him.

Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “10?” and if his voice cracked slightly, the man didn’t mention it.

The man replied, his eyes fixated on the wall in front of him. Credence knew what he was doing. It was a tactic he used to keep from crying. It made it easier to disconnect yourself from the situation by having a single, nonmoving thing to focus on.

“It’s uncommon for an obscurial to live past nine-years-old. Living to 10 was something just short of a miracle.” The man paused. He turned his attention from the wall to Credence.

Credence hated eye contact. It made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t describe. And he had only briefly seen the man in the subway, but he had a sneaking suspicion the man hated eye contact almost as much as him.

Yet uncomfortable feelings were discarded as they locked eyes. The man’s eyes weren’t hardset or angry like Credence was used to. They were intense...and vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way that Credence had only ever seen in himself.

They were unusually blue, a hue that wasn’t found in New York to often. Though, Credence would dare they weren’t the same blue reflected on his coat; his eyes weren’t electric in the same sense. The blue color of his coat was electric in the sense that it was a bright--rather daring, in all honesty--color. The blue color of his eyes was electric in the sense that something was clearing resting below the surface. Whether it be some raging idea or simply a raw, uncut emotion as it was in this case.

His eyes were glossy. Credence had been right. He had been staring at the wall to keep from crying.

This small detail, though innocent in itself, was enough to allow the split-second it took for the uncomfortability to return.

Credence broke the contact. The man moved slightly towards him. His moves were cautious, yet again; he was scared. Perhaps not of Credence, though. Rather, for Credence.

“But you,” The man’s voice wavered. Credence feared the man might actually cry.

“You’re special,” Mr. Graves had said that to him once as well. Mr. Graves lied.

“It’s miraculous. The way you’ve been able to survive,” All he was helping to do was confirm something Credence already knew; he should be dead.

The man continued talking, but all Credence could think about was how similar this speech of sorts was to everything Graves had ever told him.

He could feel himself losing control. The action was easy. It was hard to fight. Credence was tired. He didn’t want to fight. So he allowed himself to lose control slowly.

The man noticed. His talking became more rapid. Or maybe that’s just how he talked and he didn’t notice, much less care. It didn’t matter.

“Credence,” So he had noticed.

“Credence,” The man repeated and a sick part of Credence wondered if he’d ever shut up.

“Credence. You can control this. I know someone who can help you.” It was as though he were directly quoting Mr. Graves.

“What if he can’t help me?” Credence asked merely for the enjoyment of himself. He wanted to watch as the man struggled for flowery words that would only stall this.

“Then we’ll find someone who can,” His reply was fast. Not fast enough to seem rehearsed, yet just fast enough to seem sincere.

It was foolish. It was idiotic, even. Credence believed him. Credence met his eyes once more, falling into the deep blue similarly to how he had only days ago.

Credence thought it might be easier to dive than fall. So he let himself dive. 

He fought it. He fought it. He was tired. But he fought it.

If Credence was tired before, he was exusted now. He was always tired, but this was uncomparable. He tried to power through. To act as though nothing were wrong.

When he looked up, the man was staring at him. Not in anger. Not in disgust. Not in fear. Something akin to awe gleamed in his eyes.

“You’re so strong,” The man whispered. Mr. Graves had whispered the same sweet nothings in his ear night after night, yet it wasn’t the same coming from the man. Maybe it was is tone, but the words seemed to hold a different meaning.

Call him a fool--he already thought himself one--but there was such about the man that made Credence undeniably trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya bois in sicko mode!! ive been on bedrest for the last couple weeks or so (press F in the chat),, ive been too high on medication to write and once im able to go back tot school ill have a bunch of work to catch up on so idk when the next update will be (can we get another F in the chat)


	5. mainly filler because i needed to post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mostly just a filler chapter,, okay but lowkey i wanna make credences obscurial like a mini venom someone stop me also ya bois up and moving again dont even worry about it

Newt watched, careful not to distract Credence in any way, shape, or form. A dark, eerie cloud surrounded him, dramatizing his pale skin to an almost sickly shade. 

He had to reassure himself that Credence, however much he might doubt himself, could, in fact, do this and had the situation, as odd as it may be, completely under control. Yet, he didn’t trust himself enough to keep from intervening. Intervening would only make this so much worse, Newt knew this.

Little by little, the dark cloud shrunk into itself as though it were destroying itself, but Credence remained untouched as he stared intently into Newt’s eyes.

Newt’s inability to hold eye contact was widely reported, an infamous thing in itself. As much as he would like to claim otherwise, staring into Credence’s eyes was no better, perhaps worse.

His gaze always seemed pained. Years of abuse echoed in his eyes. It didn’t make Newt uncomfortable, per se, and he wouldn’t describe his feelings as pity. The feeling, in itself, wasn’t particularly indescribable. The issue didn’t lie with not having the words to properly place the feeling; the issue was not being able to understand the feeling.

Yet, staring into Credence’s eyes, he felt he didn’t need to understand the feeling. 

The cloud engulfing the boy fully disappeared, leaving no trace in its wake.

“You’re so strong,” The words fell from his lips before Newt could stop them. The words were spoken softly, but he knew Credence had heard, though he might be too tired to remember come morning. The boy slowly laid back down, and, without another word, he fell asleep.

Pages from Newt’s first draft lay spread around his sleeping figure. Newt tried to collect them without jostling the boy, however, most of the papers were on his far side. Though a difficult task, he managed to retrieve the papers. It was only after he had spent the better part of ten minutes wrestling some of the papers--some of which actually tore--out from under Credence, that he realized this could’ve easily been solved with a simple ‘Accio, papers!’.

Assuming Credence wouldn’t be sleeping for the next 72 hours like before, Newt would stay in the room the whole time. He picked up an apple from the table and made a mental note to have Credence eat when he woke up, if not for the boy’s sake then to make sure the little food Newt had stolen didn’t go to waste.

Newt sat down with his papers, his apple, and a muggle pen he had found (the pen was far more practical than the quills and inkwells they used at Hogwarts, though the ink dried rather slowly and had a habit of creating ink splotches). If he wasn’t to go and visit his creatures again, then he would sit here and, hopefully, make some progress on his draft. It had been months since he had last looked at it, surely some editing needed to be done.

It was silent, save for the faint sound made when pen met papers. The apple remained untouched as seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours. Newt remained fixated solely on the paper in front of him.

At this point, his writing was beyond legible, though it wasn’t all that legible, to begin with. The editing marks were written was bolder, darker strokes, but there were so many edits that it was difficult to follow. Ink drips and splotches littered the margins, even becoming as bold to ambush some of the writing. Newt figured he’d have to rewrite the whole thing, but that didn’t assure that he had handwriting would improve from one draft to another.

Newt glanced over at Credence. The boy curled into himself in his sleep, almost as though he was purposely trying to take up as little space as possible. His back was to Newt. The only reassurance being the subtle rise and fall of Credence’s shoulders with each breath. Newt dropped the fountain pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

Writing was so much harder than it needed to be. Newt knew exactly what he wanted to say about each individual creature. He knew exactly which details he wanted to incorporate (all of them). He just wasn’t sure how to properly communicate it. Maybe he’d see if Theseus could help.

Newt got up and began pacing in what little space there was in the cabin. He thought briefly of leaving the cabin or escaping to his case, he hadn’t had as much time with creatures as he had hoped as of recent (his honest plan, in the beginning, was to spend the whole duration of the trip in his case.

Thoughts ran through his head at record speed. He didn’t have proper time to sort them all. So he simply classified them for later reconsideration. Newt allowed himself to hyperfocus on eating the apple. He spent an unmentioned amount of time keying out each minuscule detail about the fruit. The smooth, almost rubbery, exterior contrasted by the rough, equally rubber interior. The sharp crack as his teeth broke through the skin followed by a dull sound of the apple being ground against his teeth. The small bit of juice that escaped each piece every time he bit down.

A single, loud snore broke through the silence, startling Newt out of his trance. He glanced over at Credence again. The boy was still sleeping, but he didn't snore again. Credence had managed to twist his body into what appeared to be the least comfortable position Newt could think of. Newt's gaze softened.

Here was a boy, barely older than a child, who had managed to survive despite the cruel cards life had dealt him. Even when he tried to escape and claw himself away, the harsh reality of the magnitude of what he was dealing with had managed to catch up with him.

Newt envied his strength in a way. He didn't envy the circumstances, but Credence had a strength he envied. If he were half as strong as Credence, he thought, then perhaps the circumstances would have been different. Here Newt was, barely older than Credence (in that sense, Newt supposed he'd also be considered something of a child), failing at everything life had dealt him and Newt was dealt a fair deal, perhaps slightly better than fair, mind you.

Credence shifted again and the bed under him creaked in protest. Was he a restless sleeper? Perhaps the bed was just uncomfortable, Newt decided. He wouldn't know; he hadn't touched the bed since he boarded the ship. There was another bed in his case. Newt had added it recently after realising he spent most nights in his case anyway. Should he move Credence then? That would be over stepping many boundaries, especially if it turned out that Credence was simply a restless sleeper.

Newt tried to test how comfortable the bed was by laying on the side that Credence wasn't stretched out onto, however the bed was small so this left little room between the two. The mattress wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but it wasn't a luxury either. Newt could easily fall asleep on it, but that wasn't to say that he wouldn't wake up without pain in multiple places. Perhaps it would be better to move Credence.

Before he made a definite decision, Newt spent more time considering all the options. He narrowed it down to three choices. He could move Credence because this bed is uncomfortable or he could leave Credence here because moving him could risk overstepping a boundary. He could also just wake up Credence and ask him to choose but that had the risk of annoying Credence. So, he had actually narrowed it down to two choices. They were the same two choices he had started with so really Newt didn't narrow down anything, he just stalled.

A long sigh filled the room before Newt got off the bed, taking Credence with him. Carrying the boy bridal style down the ladder would be difficult and could end horribly for both of them. They wouldn't die, the fall wasn't that long, but they could break something. Newt had thought about dropping Credence as a serious solution. He still had some bone mending potion anything so the break would be temporary. Only problem is that the break would wake Credence and that was what he was trying to avoid.

The climb down was slow, even tedious. It was worth it as they both reached the bottom unharmed, Credence still sleeping.

Having Credence sleep down here had another advantage. Newt could spend time with his creatures without leaving the boy alone. They passed through what used to be Frank's habitat, a bit of nostalgia sobering Newt.

The mooncalves crowded around Newt as he carried Credence through the biomes of his case. He walked carefully as to not step on any one of them though he couldn't exactly see his feet.

They came to Newt's personal habitat, as he often referred to it. Careful not to jalt him, he laid Credence down onto the cot. The boy shifted but remained untouched in his dreamy state.

Newt paused, watching the boy briefly for any sign of distress, before getting to work. He fed each species individually, returning to his make-shift house to check on Credence before going to feed the next species.

Each time he returned, it was exactly as he had left it. It was his own needless worry that kept doting him on Credence.

He returned after having fed his last creatures. Running back and forth between Credence and his creatures was so much more exhausting than just going to creature after creature, only returning to get more food.

He stood facing the cot, where a merry surprise awaited him. Under closer inspection he noticed something green sticking out of the boy's black hair. It was Pickett! Newt's heart warmed at the sight of his small bowtruckle nesting in Credence's hair. After just one day, Pickett had already warmed up to the boy.

He would do just fine here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive had this huge group project in school for the last few weeks and we finally finished it today now we just gotta present on the 29th

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr @itspracticallycannon


End file.
